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the way out
The sixteen stitches tracking my mouth,
Bleed black, red, a broad curve.
The pain pumped through the wound of my heart,
And I am still here guarding my place.
Accidents, a gift to give to the young,
Hospital, a home for the bird with a broken wing,
Arm and shoulder combine into tenderness;
Lip, signalling well known pain.
I give thanks for my mother, lifeline for anyone
The power over me, the fool who knows,
That I am a gift, who would say no?
Thrown over the tyre, grateful of the accident,
Kissed into cool pain, aching to give up.

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